


The Executioner's Flame

by Emaiyl



Series: The Executioner [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, BDSM, F/M, Gift Fic, Knifeplay, asoiafrarepairs Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-24 06:51:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17095904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emaiyl/pseuds/Emaiyl
Summary: In Winterfell, Daenerys judges the Kingslayer.





	The Executioner's Flame

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mount_Seleya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mount_Seleya/gifts).



> Written for Mount_Seleya (seleya on Tumblr) as part of the Asoiafrarepairs Secret Santa event. She asked for a story that explored a confrontation between Dany and Jaime about his slaying of Aerys. I was happy to work in a few other touches that will, I hope, be to her taste.

The black spike of the ship sharpened the frozen edges of the sky into blades, white and blue. Snow sparkled on the dark wool of Daenerys' gloves.

Cersei walked ahead, her back icicle-straight. A lightning strike froze with each of her steps; the afterimage snapped cold sparks into Daenerys' blood. Cracks whispered through the ice, scattering like spiders over the wharf's wood. A likeness of land stolen from an older spring.

As they approached the ship, Cersei turned. Wet darkened her dress, and shards of dull red sliced the black polish of her boots.

Her smile was a vast and fallen summer.

“I know you birthed a dead child, once.”

Sorrow had made weapons of them both.

Grief had given Cersei claws, and Daenerys fire.

*

In the ever-growing dark, Tyrion spoke softly. “Perhaps she'll become a pirate queen in her old age.”

The door creaked open onto cold, and torchlight lost itself in walls of pitted grey stone.

The Kingslayer hung from chains bolted to the wall. His black tunic was blacker still with dirt, and torn to expose the blades of his collarbone. Hair dark with grime hung in lanks around his cheekbones, sharp as knives.

Tyrion looked to Dany, and she gave a short nod.

The light of every season found a home in the Kingslayer's face.

His true smile was not for her, and for this she was glad.

His teeth glittered like chips of polished silver beneath a beard dark with dust. Gold and grey fought to shine, scattered stars within a storm-dark sky. In his eyes was a quiet plucked from the sun's heart.

A hand warm across her throat.

“Brother.” Tyrion flung himself against Jaime, and all the brightness of Jaime's face moved to his body, the gentlest weapon; his arms curved around his brother like arakhs. The chains that held him trembled.

Daenerys turned away.

_It was not Viserys' love that crushed me._

She drew a breath that filled her with steadying cold; when she turned back, Tyrion was at her side.

It was a false smile Jaime gave to her. He'd gathered the flickers of shadow and flame and set them in his eyes to hide his truth.

“I see you've deigned to notice me.”

“We bring you news,” Tyrion said. “Cersei sails across the Narrow Sea.”

The flickering in Jaime's eyes stilled.

“She lost the child.”

The shadow flamed, and the flame darkened.

Jaime's throat worked, the golden skin of his neck rippling. His gaze sliced through the air, an arakh sweeping in a cold arc.

A talon tearing into her.

“Cersei. Why?”

Dany's voice followed torchlight into stone, whispering softness against grey. “I know what it is to lose a child.”

“ _My_ _daughter's_ blood soaks the snow.”

*

Even in cold that caged, heart-tendrils curled upward.

Daenerys watched them grow.

*

A wildling and a warrior.

“A lone ranging would be death, Brienne.”

Fingers brushing gently in soft light.

“You think the Night King will try to steal me?”

A tangle of red.

“Let him try.”

*

The Lady of Winterfell and a squire.

A gloved hand reaching and grasping.

“Thank you, Podrick.”

“My lady.”

All the green of a promise in his voice.

*

There was no hot spring warm enough for the shriveled tendril in Jaime's heart.

Winter's fierceness grew.

*

“It only takes one man to kill. A single spear from the Night King would be enough,” Jaime said.

“You were nearly that man, Kingslayer.”

“A terrible shame I couldn't add Queenslayer to my list of titles.”

Tyrion was a small shadow at Dany's side, his presence a quiet constancy. His voice gathered like kindling.

“Jaime.” A minute and concentrated spark. “Don't.”

Her dragons had unleashed their flame, and men had burned. Now their word glowed, warming the air.

She clenched her fist around it in the dark.

*

“I came to Winterfell to serve the _Realm_!”

Jaime's collarbone was a delicate frame against the golden skin of his shoulders, the tendons of his neck candlewicks pulled taut.

“You came to serve the Realm whose king you murdered. Did you feel justified?”

“I did. It was my war, and my oath to break.” In his voice, a candle with trembling flame above her; his truth an oil soaking into her skin. “No one asks of the lives I saved.”

“How many lives? Those already dead by his cruelty?”

“The half-a-million of the city, you bloody _fool_!”

Her fist clenched, but met his burning oil, flames catching in her flesh like lion's teeth.

Cersei's dead summer illuminated Jaime's eyes.

“There was no will but his will. No desire but his desire. If you are to be Queen, I would see you bend.”

“You tried to kill me!”

“Then _punish_ me!” An echo crackled in his words, his body a silken shadow burning into stone.

There were two words now, one in each fist.

Jaime's eyes flickered down to Dany's hands, and his gaze was more hot oil spilling on her knuckles and fingertips, spreading over the skin of her thighs.

“You believe me.”

This was her war. Her boots rapped a soft rhythm against the stone as she strode towards him.

She adjusted the chains at the wall, and he twisted to look at her. “Are you so merciful, my Queen?” He grinned. “Terrible pity. I think you'd rather I kneel at that silver altar between your legs.” She worked at the chains around his wrist and elbow, and he flexed his fingers. “Is that how I'll win my freedom? That wasn't quite the way I was expecting to use my tongue, but—”

Her hand opened like a dragon's wing and flew to sink in his hair.

Daenerys pulled Jaime's head back, and his neck gleamed gold before her, its curve a creature waking beneath her palm. Hot blood and shuddering skin, the apple of his throat pulsing. The word beat in the hand Daenerys pressed against Jaime's throat. She had loosened his chains enough to give him slack; with one hand in his hair and the other a manacle around his wrist, she drew him down to sit.

“Do not speak.”

She settled herself on top of him. The coarse wool of his breeches etched its pattern of threads against the silk of her smallclothes, and the strength of his thighs burnt into her. He moved his hips beneath hers, and his gently curving heat slid against her smallclothes, a delicious pressure against the seam of her cunt. The wool of his breeches scraped against the thin silk around her nub, a piercing point of flame.

Dany rose up, clamping her thighs around him as she had manacled his wrist. Her fingers sank into the muscle of his throat.

She nipped his earlobe gently before pressing her mouth to the soft and tender shell. “No.”

Jaime shuddered.

She pulled back from him, and his eyes were glassy.

With a half-smile, he said, “You didn't tell me not to move.”

“Do not speak.”

Dany had teeth, not talons, but when she was done, the pressure against her smallclothes was a steady burning heat. Jaime's tongue was a pink flash against the red on his lips.

She rose and rearranged her skirts. “I will come to you again.”

His shaking sigh sank into the stone.

*

Daenerys was sharpening the blade when Tyrion burst into her chamber. “You've been training.”

“Yes.”

“With Arya.”

“Yes.”

The whetstone scraped its melody across the dagger. Wind stirred the curtains.

“That's an _executioner's_ blade.”

“Yes.”

In the light of the candle's soft flame, Tyrion's jaw clenched. “You promised him mercy.”

“Go to him tomorrow, and tell me I was not merciful.”

The flame shivered once, twice, and its sweet smoke filled the room.

*

When Dany returned to the dungeon, Jaime was drying himself.

“You've come to watch me dress, I expect.”

There was his false smile, the knife in his eyes and mouth.

As he tightened the drawstring on his breeches, he said, “You missed the best part. What a shame you didn't come earlier.” His hand ruffled through the damp of his hair, spraying droplets illuminated by the flickering torch. “Or perhaps you did. Pity it was too quiet to hear.”

He reached for his tunic, and she snatched it away, tossing it aside. “No.”

“Ah.” His grin was a slash against the gold of his face. “Later, then?”

“No.”

They'd taken Jaime's golden hand when he'd reached Winterfell. His stump was bare to her, and she brushed her fingertips against it.

He wrenched his arm away.

His eyes flew to the dagger at her hip.

His smile was still false, but faltering. Shimmering against the hairs on her skin.

“Sit, Kingslayer. Against the wall.”

He was a melting candle dripping wax onto the stone. His body fluttered towards her dagger, his eyes smoky tips of flame. Her skirts whispered their want of his secrets as she lowered herself onto his lap.

The blade's silver glint reflected in his eyes.

“You'll take my other hand.”

“No.”

She pressed the dagger to his stump.

Jaime recoiled. The flame of his body was a keen point, and in it burned his lost war.

She pulled the knife away and brushed her fingers gently over his arm.

The dagger was a slash of silver against the gold of his body; Dany drew it up his torso to his chest, marking him with her blood-forged talon. In the dungeon's stillness, Jaime's breaths were hot in her hair, every muscle quivering like a pool of molten gold. His fingers clenched in the wool of her skirt, hot where they made a fist against her thigh.

She pressed the flat of the blade against his nipple, taking the other between thumb and finger with the slightest pinch, lowering her mouth and flicking her tongue to taste the salt beading in warm drops there. He gasped and jerked, and the full warmth of his body enveloped her. At the scent of his skin, her dragon's hunger lashed its feral beat against the blood in even her smallest vein. Daenerys drew the blade up towards his neck and lowered her mouth to suck at the skin on his collarbone. His shoulder was a golden morsel of meat beneath her dragonsteeth.

Jaime's head tipped to expose the muscled column of his neck.

Dany's hand pressed against his chest. Each exhalation ended on a shudder that pulsed through her.

She pressed the knife to his throat.

His last war: fought in his blood, flowing into her flesh.

A gentle victory hung in golden stillness.

She drew her hand through his hair.

For her, his true smile.


End file.
